’ ‘What name would you like, then?’ Her shadowed features turned in his direction. ‘How do you do, my lord? I am Lucilla Froxfield. When she got back to her questions again in the monotonous high-road that led up the hill, she found the image of Mr. The thought of their faces, and particularly of her aunt’s, as it would meet the fact— disconcerted, unfriendly, condemning, pained—occurred to her again and again.
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